


Bad Moon Rising

by Altiria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempts at Horror, Dark Harry, Dead People, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Ghosts, Halloween Special, Humor, Necromancer Harry Potter, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altiria/pseuds/Altiria
Summary: There can be no greater gift given to a Necromancer than a soul fragment. Hariel as a true-born Necromancer figures Tom Riddle must have been courting her since the moment of her birth considering when he gave his to her. She naturally accepts his offer; it's a Horcrux for goodness sake. But she can't quite understand why Tom keeps trying to run from her after she does unless he wants her to prove herself to him? Well, she can oblige.Perhaps Molly will help her with that Love Potion after all?





	1. Season Of The Witch

There was grave-dirt under her fingernails. Her skin looked though the sun had never touched it, her lips were as red as blood without a single drop of lipstick touching. Her hair was not black but ebony, looking as though it had been touched by the underworld like it had been born of a world of black of white to the point that it sucked in the light rather than reflected it. Her eyes shone like brilliant green gemstones; but to those that had seen it, they would swear up and down the color was the exact shade of the killing curse. The dress she wore was ripped at the edges and stained at the knees, the unknowing would say she was a tom-boy playing in the dirt, the knowledge would know better.

Not a soul would say she was normal.

Hariel Lilith Potter breezed along the streets with a smile stained upon her face. She acted the part of a good little girl, never allowing the sharpness of her teeth to show itself with her practiced smile. For Hariel’s genuine smile could curl hair and had not been seen by a single living soul, it was a smile that split her face like a carved pumpkin and was too wide to be natural.

It was impossible not to notice her as she glided past.all would watch as she’d pause in the middle of the road and begin a conversation with the air. Then she’d been young people would coo and gush over the sinfully beautiful child speaking with her imaginary friends. Later they’d fret that the child was touched in the head and whoever her parents were, the needed to keep far better watch of their child. While to those that stopped to speak would soon blanch and shake as they realized the girl knew a little bit too much about their late Grandmother.

Hariel’s aunt, one Petunia Evans, would like to say she was perfectly normal and truthfully she was. There was a good reason Petunia did not speak of her family and an equally good reason she’d never introduced them to her son or husband. Beyond the brief and foolish act of attending her sister's wedding. Petunia was quite firmly the only sane member of her family. She had a normal life, a normal home, a normal husband, and blissfully normal son. Petunia also had a very abnormal niece.

Really, Petunia never should have ended up with Hariel. She had living family outside her sister, and Petunia had never got on overly well with Lily. Really, had they not been related Petunia never would have considered associating with Lily at all. Considering the sheer amount of earth-shaking, literally, fights the sisters had gotten involved in Petunia expected to never be mentioned in Lily’s will. She also hadn’t expected Lily to die at all, the image of Lily dead had been something Petunia had thought impossible even as an adult. So her surprise had been well-founded when she’d discovered the hauntingly beautiful Hariel on her doorstep that night. And no, her scream of horror had nothing to do with the infant and everything to do with the very dead cat that had attached itself to Hariel sometime during the night.

Despite the cat incident, Petunia had prayed to every god that existed that her niece would not end up like her sister. Dudley, after all, was a normal young boy. So it was possible Hariel could be like her. The day Petunia discovered Hariel’s toys floating above a delighted Dudley’s head, her prayers had altered slightly. Petunia could accept magic, she might be a squib and hate that she hadn’t gotten magic like the rest of her family, but Petunia could prioritize. Petunia would take magic over the Frump abilities any day of the year. Again and again, she whispered the words in the darkness ‘please let Hariel be like her father,’ ‘please let James Potter’ genes be stronger than the Frump ones,’ ‘I’ll ask for nothing else, just don’t let Hariel be like her mother.’ A witch Petunia knew how to handle, she knew the system, she’d been trained, but a girl like Lily… Petunia didn’t know what she’d do in that case.

At first, Petunia had hope. Sure, the cat was suspicious, but maybe it had been a lingering effect from Lily. And yes, Hariel’s hair was a bit too dark, but that could be because of regular magic. The eyes could be the same. And the… the talking to invisible beings, witches did that, they definitely did. And yes, Hariel’s sense of humor was a bit… darker than Petunia would like, but everyone has a few unique points… right? The girl seemed reasonable, or as ordinary as a witch could be, maybe her prayers had been answered?

And then Petunia walked into the backyard on Hariel’s fourth birthday.

A week prior Hariel had been babysat by an odd being by the name of Arabella Figg, a woman with four dozen cats and none of them fixed. The entire area by then knew the excessive amount of strays in Little Whinging was entirely because of crazy cat lady Figg. Petunia didn’t mind cats, but that many strays were never a good thing. Still Petunia kept that thought inside her head because Figg babysat for free and no one else would take Hariel without complaint. Not to mention Petunia heavily suspected the mad Figg was in actuality a squib, so she wouldn’t blink at the odd happenings that Hariel caused by proxy.

That incident had occurred when Dudley had become violently sick, and Petunia had not wanted two flu-ridden violently hurling children around at the same time. Dudley was enough thank you very much. Hoping to remove Hariel from the area early enough that her niece didn’t fall ill to what had caught Dudley, she’d called Figg to take her for a few days. Only to later learn that Hariel had been witness to the public and violent death of one of Figg’s numerous cats; naturally, you’d be unsurprised to find it had been a pitch-black male with blood-red eyes which she’d gotten attached to.

The week following Petunia had been on pins and needles waiting. She remembered in great detail the first incident with Lily had resulted from a similar event, except with Lily it had been a snow-white owl fondly deemed ‘Hedwig.’ Mother and father had been so proud when it happened, they’d hardly noticed Petunia fleeing in absolute, petrified, terror.

But a week passed, and Petunia allowed herself to relax, to let her guard down. With Lily, it had happened within a day, and it seemed that amazingly with Holly, Petunia would actually have a semi-regular family member. A plain witch instead of a, well, what the rest of the family was. Relaxed as she’d been, Petunia had been caught unaware when she entered the backyard. Hariel and Dudley had been left playing on the lovely play-place in their backward together. In the time Petunia it took for her to craft a snack for Hariel and Dudley, a cat had located the children.

For a moment, at the distance she was at, Petunia thought it was another stray, there were certainly enough for the children to find a friendly one. As she moved forward Petunia already intended to shoo or adopt it if her Dudders was attached, one it was adequately cleaned that was. Until she got closer and saw it.

Half in Hariel’s lap, it pawed at her niece playfully, and half its body was stretched out across the ground. It’s lower portion was caved in, run flat from the tire that had killed it.

It had dragged its carcass seven blocks to reach Hariel.

That was only the beginning, unfortunately. Petunia had to confess the truth to Vernon about her niece and about her family. For Vernon had no real problem with witches, he already knew about magic, about his niece possessing it like her parents had. To him, witches and wizards were perfectly fine. But he hadn’t known the other secret in her family tree, in the Evans tree, in the Frump tree.

She whispered to him the truth in light of the day while the sun was at it’s highest point. The way her parents would attempt to poison them every other dinner, that Lily had tried to poison them right back, how Petunia was now immune to most types because of exposure. She told him of the dungeon and the torture chamber; how her mother and Lily had crooned about whips and chains trying to get Petunia to try it. How her uncle would visit and hurl knives at her and how she’d had to catch them lest she be run through, a skill she still possessed out of sheer paranoia. How Lily used to dig up corpses, how dead birds would follow her home. How that strange hooked nose boy had been beaten to death by his father and the dead Lily used her awakened magic to bring him back.

Then she whispered the word, the one she knew would follow Hariel around just as it had Lily.

Necromancer.

Vernon tried to stamp that part of her out of Hariel. He punished her for bringing home dead things; told her again and again not to dig in the dirt out of fear she’d find more than worms. Vernon put her in the cupboard and tried to give her proper discipline. But Petunia knew it would not work, she told him that dead animals were really tame in comparison of what Hariel could do when she got older and that angering her now when she was weak would be dangerous in the long run, but he dismissed her.

When they accidentally passed a graveyard one night while Vernon was yelling at her because of an incident at the children’s school; that had been the last straw for them all. The sight of a dozen graves shaking as corpses tried to climb free of the concrete, the wood, and the dirt to get to Hariel. To do who knows what to the rest of them. The incident resembled her and Lily’s last too much, the feeling of a dozen skeletal rotting hands holding her down would be something Petunia would never forget as long as she lived. She refused to let that happen again that or worse due to the lack of control her niece had. Petunia put her foot down, she and Vernon agreed to leave Hariel be. Better the necromancer that liked them, than the one that didn’t. Though it didn’t stop Petunia from encouraging Hariel to keep it away from the neighbors.

So Hariel became known to most as the sinfully beautiful young mentally off girl of Privet Drive. The one who needed a bit more help when she stopped randomly in the street and spoke to herself. The girl who had imaginary friends and a soft spot for odd-looking animals that followed her home.

But Petunia knew the truth. She knew those imaginary friends were the deceased unwilling to move on. She knew those animals twitched as they moved did so because their hearts no longer beat. She knew that the odd dirty lump in her backyard was not because of a mole. And she knew what Hariel got up to every Halloween when instead of trick-or-treating, Hariel requested to be left at the graveyard and returned speaking of the new friend ‘Hector’ that she’d met that night.

They also never got rid of the cat, but that was another problem altogether.

* * *

The dead were fascinating. They changed depending on the culture, the religion, the age, and countless other variables that Hariel couldn’t even name. She met people of all kinds, from the simple shades that glided past to the cursed endlessly repeating their deaths again and again until they faded completely. There existed reapers with their scythes that ignored her or inclined their heads in distant respect. Or the shinigami in their black uniforms carrying swords that had defended her on occasion for seeing. There were dead with great gaping holes in their chests, monsters that could rip apart souls, humans with chains keeping them bound to the land in punishment. There were skeletal figures with extravagant colors painted on their bones that appeared only one special night every year. Hariel learned of the grim, dogs who for-told the end but were far from malicious.

And every one of these dead beings had a story, luckily most were willing to share with her.

The spirit of a woman burned by her fiance as she waited for her true love to free her. A skeleton who continued to pass into the human realm every year to see his descendants that continued to speak his name. A little girl waiting, just waiting but unaware of what she was waiting for.

There were many differences in the dead. Subtle things like the way she could tell how most people died by looking at their corpses. To how they responded to her presence and questions. Some never acknowledged her, some were cursed to forever repeat their death over and over. Others were quite aware of what had happened to them. Some lingered to watch over the living. Others refused to accept death and move on.

Death and how souls responded to it was endless. She would never learn everything about it, she knew that. For she did not know what happened after, few knew and fewer still could or would talk about it, and they didn’t know everything either.

Hariel knew people like Hector had a secondary death once he was completely forgotten about. She knew of shinigami who protected and collected the souls that refused to pass on. She knew of the grim, canines that gave her a considerable distance. She also knew the being known as ‘Death’ was endless and had countless forms, though she’d never met any of them.

Ghouls, ghosts, demons, and so much else. And Hariel patiently listened to them all as she instinctively knew to do.

No one actually told her what she was, it wasn’t something spoken of by the living. But the dead, oh they were all too willing to share the truth.

“You listen to their tales, you help them pass on.” A reaper once told her as an older woman resisted his efforts to continue on even as she faded.

“You will tell her how to find the money… right?” whispered a man stalking behind his daughter, who was going to lose their home because of money problems.

“You’ll help him move on, won’t you? To find a new adventure?” an older woman asked, staring at her husband who just stopped.

She was a necromancer. Hariel was the bridge between the living and the dead. She was alive enough to help and dead enough to see. Hariel slipped through death, accepting, unafraid, and with one step into the afterlife and one on the edge of life. She was the bridge, and she loved it.

She found him when she was eight years old. With her familiar Barghest staggering behind her, she really had to find him a new leg, the old one had gone rotten again. She strode through the darkness unafraid of the dangerous living who might harm a child such as she. The dead protected her, they’d come to her aid if she asked for it and should they not, Hariel knew the shinigami would instead if they weren’t too busy that was. It was a tough business making souls cross on.

“E-…vans?”

Hariel paused in the street and backtracked several steps. In the alley stood a ghost that stared at her, but it was not his stare which caught her attention. But instead, it was his features. Hair that stuck up in every single direction, brown eyes that seemed almost familiar and a nose that matched her own. “N-….o Potter?” he twitched and glided towards her hand, reaching out as if he was unaware he couldn’t actually touch her if she didn’t allow it.

“Hullo.” Hariel still greeted, “who are you?”

He twitched more eyes locking on her eyes: “she sees me… Evans…. Po—ter?”

“It’s Potter.” She told him firmly, “Hariel Potter to be precise, though my mother was an Evans… how did you know?” she’d heard plenty of stories about her parents from her aunt and uncle, not that any of them were terribly positive. She knew precisely what a drunkard was thanks to her uncle.

“Evans… Potter… isn’t… not right- James?”

“Hariel.” She firmly corrected, realizing this soul seemed to be one of the ones that weren’t connected to the mortal realm. It happened, unfortunately, where souls were present, but their minds were gone. They were trapped in-between, unable to remember why they stayed, but unable to move on. It was a terrible thing, and frequently the reason darker monsters existed.

“James… right nose- Potter- not right… Evans… more of her.” He reached up and ran his fingers across her hair, not touching, but lingering on the black of her locks. “Red?” he asked, and Hariel wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I… I don’t understand.” She admitted,

“Mine… grand… daughter?” he started to smile as one of his legs sank into the ground, “Hariel.”

“That’s right… what do you mean, granddaughter?” she stepped forward, seeing the similarities. The uncontrollable hair, the same nose.

“It’s Euphemia’s chin, alwa- always loved her chin… s’cute.” His eyes glazed over and he twitched, “she would be so ha-ha-ha…” he cut off, and his leg slipped further into the ground his form phasing for a moment. Hariel, unwilling to lose him just yet reached forward and snatched hold of his arm to keep him steady in her plane. She’d seen ghosts fall through the ground before, and she’d not seen them return. “Happy.” He finished giving her had a cursory look.

“Who are you?” she demanded once again, “what do you know about my parents? Of me?”

He continued to ignore her: “so much of Lily, I don’t know how anyone thought she was Muggleborn… she might have lost the name, but I recognize that family… I recog-recognized those skills. I can’t believe I… missed it. Too worried about James new hobbies-hobbies-hobbies.” He knelt down and tapped it his hand, touching her when he could touch no other. Most ghosts were shocked by this, shocked to be able to make contact with a living being instead of phasing straight through. And most were harmless when they learned this knowledge, asking her for hugs or simply touches to make them feel. But others were violent, taking what she did not offer and forcing her to call for help. Hariel briefly wondered which this man would be before she focused on his words and what they meant.

“You know my parents… you’re my… my grandfather?” she guessed going off the names and similarities. But that was amazing! She’d never seen anyone from her family before, she’d thought it was impossible before that. Or that none of her living family cared, just as her aunt did not.

“Who are you!” Hariel pressed hoping he could answer some of her questions, her countless unending questions about herself and what she alone could do. “Why do you know about my family!?”

That seemed to be the right question as his gaze sharpened oddly: “this is wrong.” He gasped, looking down at himself, “Potter’s… we’re supposed to welcome death. We don’t become ghosts. I passed on… I chose to follow our old friend… why am I here?” he looked at her desperately: “Little Potter, grand-daughter mine… why am I her-” He vanished into the ground as if he’d been yanked right through it. He was pulled from her grip and away from her as if he’d never been there. But she knew he had, and Hariel glanced around the area looking for a sign, any sign, as to why he’d been right there.

It was an empty alleyway, seemingly deserted. But every place had history, everywhere had death. Hariel’s only hint to her past and family was somewhere around there and she stepped forward carefully inspecting. He might have died there, in that alley years ago. Or he’d just blindly wandered until he happened upon her. The former worked far better for her as Hariel stooped down and pressed her palms to the ground where he’d been standing when she’d passed.

“Are you down there?” she asked, feeling for his soul, feeling for his corpse.

But nothing answered, and Hariel released a frustrated sound.

She’d been so close.

An hour later, Hariel gave up, she abandoned the alley and returned to her home with her aunt and uncle. She entered her room and curled up with her Barghest carefully brushing his fur, so she did not pull the skin out with her efforts. As she worked, the house slept as the moon rose and fell, before she fell into a sound sleep thinking of the man with the unruly hair. As she called to him in her dreams begging for information.

And the sun began to rise as Petunia Dursley slipped from her bed and soundlessly passed her niece's haunted room. As she strode down the stairs and entered the kitchen with bleary eyes, distracted, making coffee so she could begin to wake up. Petunia stood in the kitchen, hands nursing her mug - a gift from her niece that she actually had really wanted - and she heard it.

The back-door opened.

It could have been the chill of the morning air, ruined by the warmth of her coffee, that had every hair on Petunia’s neck stand on end.

Thump-

Creeeeeeek-

Petunia stared firmly at the sink, begging, pleading to every god. As she dared not look.

Thump.

THUMP.

It was heading for the stairs, the stairs right at her back. Don't look, don’t look, don’t look.

Thump.

Thump.

Creeeek.

It dragged across the ground, and Petunia felt the tears of fear escape her eyes. No dead in the house, she had one rule for her niece. No dead in the house.

Oh god, it was in the house.

The sound of Hariel’s door opened, a thump, then the door closed and silence.

Petunia pretended it hadn’t happened, she went about her business. All the while on the floor above her a corpse with unruly hair whispered a story, told Hariel truth. Of a necromancer and a family that accepted death.

Until her niece came down hours later with grave dirt in her hair and a ring that should have been buried six feet under hanging off her neck. As her green yes linked with Petunia’s, and a question fell from her lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me that I’m a witch?”


	2. Super Freak

“Necromancer,” Binns spoke with clarity, with a focus in his eyes as he floated over his class of young minds. A different group than he remembered, but regardless, a class none the less. The students were willing, so teach he would… even after his life had ended. “Tell me, students, what do you know about the necromancer?” hands tentatively went up, but he didn’t call on them; he never did. “Anything you’d tell me about them… is incorrect.” The hands fell, and he looked carefully at the set spying for that family, when he didn’t see any he almost deflated. Perhaps next year.

“Necromancers and Necromancy is one branch of magic that has been slandered into extinction. All that is passed on of the craft... is a lie. I was personally told by a living necromancer the truth, and her words I will pass on.” The children watched him interested and intrigued, but not nearly scared enough.

“So allow me to tell you the tale of a family, a line of witches and the truth of the family now known… as the Potter’s.”

* * *

A black cat walked along the platform ahead of his mistress, he strode forward the only familiar out of a cage, not that he ever needed one. Barghest, the name he had accepted, eyed the children he passed and the pathetic excuse for animals they carted about and bared his teeth. Pitiful beings these other cats, they ought to be frightened of him, but they also ought to protect their humans far better. Barghest ignored their stares, ignored the hissing cats, the screeching owls, and the terror radiating off everything else as they sensed him and continued on appropriately protecting his young dead lady.

Following a step or two behind, Hariel entered the platform in her brand new shoes chosen by a friend and paid for by her aunt. Petunia had sent her appropriately geared, which would have been odd if not for the new addition in the Dursley home. Hariel was used to rags and hand-me-downs, but her grandfather disapproved firmly. And it wasn’t like Petunia or Vernon could get rid of the corpse that settled in their home. They could, however, bribe him, so he didn’t mess with their esteemed clients and guests, and it seemed Fleamont Potter could indeed be bribed.

Fleamont, in fact, followed Hariel on cheerily as if his body wasn’t steadily falling to pieces due to her inexperience with her skills. Hariel could speak to the dead, could communicate without thought, but reviving the deceased was an art she was still learning… on animals.

Barghest’s ear fell slightly hanging off his head, and Hariel sighed, pulling it off and pocketing it. She’d have to reattach it later, just as she’d probably have to fix her grandfather's missing stomach and kidney, he’d destroyed the last one at a bar the month previous.

“And you have everything?”

“We double-checked last night, grandfather,” Hariel assured him as his leg gave an ominous crack. His replacement body was severely mismatched, considering his actual body had deteriorated quite a bit. Having the real body and the correct soul was a sure-fire way to revive someone. Reviving a body without the soul resulted in a failed experiment as a specific set of her ancestors discovered. While restoring a soul with the wrong body often resulted in the need to fix the body… often. Fleamont was in the latter category. “Will you be fine without me?” she asked once again, fearful that he’d fall to pieces without her.

“I’ll be fine.” He waved a hand at her and lost his thumb in the process. Nearby a woman fainted, she was the only person who noticed what had happened, and her husband was too focus on her to look around. Hariel made a face as Barghest collected the thumb and reattached it with a flare of her magic.

“You’ll visit if you fall apart, won’t you?” he was her only family, excluding the Dursley’s entirely, and she was afraid he’d fall into the ground and if he lost the body she’d given him. Thankfully, Fleamont had actually discovered a reason to remain on the mortal plane, so he assured her he was going nowhere.

“If I happen to fall apart, I’ll come right to Hogwarts so you can fix me up, promise.” They stopped at the scarlet steam train, “now, off you go. Enjoy yourself, make friends, and show those brats a thing or two about what a Potter can do… oh, and try not to terrify the ghosts too much.”

Hariel spun on her heel and beamed up at her grandfather: “I will, I promise.”

Fleamont made a pleased noise and added: “Oh, and make sure to prank someone every month at least, it’s tradition… and bug that old fool about our cloak. It belongs to you.”

“You don’t even know if he has it.”

“Tracking charm! It’s in the school.”

“Someone else could have it, Grandfather.”

Fleamont firmly shook his head and lost a bit of skin on his throat as he did; “I know that old batty fool, he wanted the cloak since the moment he realized I had it. He’s got it.”

Hariel gave her grandfather a wan look, then she nodded: “I’ll be sure to check.”

“Good girl.” He patted her head and ruffled the locks, “now, off you go.” Fleamont leaned down and kissed her forehead before handing Hariel her suitcase. She accepted it and bid the man she’d come to love dearly, a fond goodbye. He had been her closest friend and only genuine family member since she’d located him. It was Fleamont who resisted the call to the next world just to stay with her. It was Fleamont who told her what she was, who taught her about her family and history. He was the one who told her the stories and showed her what it meant to be a witch. She was heading to Hogwarts aware, and couldn’t be happier.

Hariel knew she’d miss him, but she also knew she was excited for Hogwarts itself as Hariel had been for the years she’d known she would go like her parents before her. Therefore it was with a mildly conflicted heart that she boarded the Hogwart express a step behind her undead familiar. Barghest effortlessly weaved through the students littering the cars, and Hariel followed being bumped on occasion before she settled in a compartment at the very end of the train.

While she waited, she pulled open her book and watched as Barghest slipped away to hunt. Hariel was quick to lose herself in the story until a scream echoed down the hall, and a boy cried out the words: “That cat ATE Trevor!”   
  
Hariel pressed her lips together in a regretful frown.

Maybe she ought to have kept Barghest with her.

* * *

“Are you a vampire?”

Hariel blinked, pulling her eyes from her book and found herself face to face with a red-haired boy her own age. She did a slight double-take as she caught sight of the color of her hair and fondly thought it resembled lightened blood. As she watched, the boy flushed as red as his hair and ducked his head.

“S-sorry, it’s just… sorry... that was rude.”

“Not really, one choose my outfit today.” She set aside nearly setting in on top of Barghest’s corpse on the chair while his soul whined at her feet. She was ignoring that, Hariel had warned him about eating other pets after the toad incident and then he’d attacked another boys spider. So he was spending the trip dead for the good of the other pets on the train. “Do you like it? He tried quite hard?” she was reasonably Victorian that day, it matched the style of the magical world well enough, but she had gotten a few looks from Muggles… not that that was any different from a typical day.

“It’s nice.” The boy insisted trying to cover up his nearly insulting slip, “you know a vampire?” he shuffled into the room with his trunk, and Hariel offered him a seat.

“Oh yes, I was nearly attacked by this large man with a knife when I was wandering last year. He ate the man, then brought me home safely.” He really shouldn’t have been so worried, one of the reapers had been about to handle the situation when he launched in. Though she hadn’t really been allowed to wander without her grandfather since. Apparently, they’d been quite scared by the fellow.

“Right…” the boy glanced at the door nervously, Hariel wondered if he had someone waiting for him or perhaps he wasn’t sure if he ought to sit down.

It was polite to offer, right? “Would you like to sit? I have space.” He wasn’t the first to come in and leave, for some reason, people kept getting scared of Barghest, or they didn’t like the low temperature of her compartment, but she thought this boy looked a touch more resilient.

“Uh…” he glanced at the door again, then at her, and at the door again, “everywhere else is full… so… yes?”

Hariel beamed: “excellent!” and the boy sat seeming quite bouncy indeed. “I’m Hariel, Hariel Potter.” She offered her hand practicing what her grandfather taught her about making new friends. First, names, then if they were a boy, then food. And she was not to mention that Barghest was dead, for some reason.

“Are you really?” his eyes shot to her forehead, and she cursed. She’d forgotten the other rule, no ‘girl-who-lived’s’ until she had already befriended them. All well. She’d just do things out of order.

“I am, and you are?”

“Ron.” He sat forward, seemingly relaxing, “Ron Weasley.” And shook her hand, Merlin he was quite warm, wasn’t he. Nothing like her other friends at all.

What was next? Ah yes, food. “Would you like some snacks? I baked them myself.”

“That would be brilliant.” Ron quickly relaxed in front of Hariel, he’d been a bit afraid she was a dark witch or something with how she was talking. At the very least, she must have been part vampire with the way she looked. Her skin was too pale, her eyes too green, her hair too black, and her smile was too broad. But, she was Hariel Potter. She was the girl-who-lived. And the girl-who-lived couldn’t possibly be a dark witch. She wouldn’t hurt him.

“Oh, don’t eat those ones. Grandfather made those for auntie, I’m pretty sure he put arsenic in them, and the flavor is terrible, he really should have used belladonna, Auntie has less of a resistance to that.”

“Uh…”

Right?


	3. Stranger Things

The Sorting Hat had no idea what to do. It had been designed to sort children; it had a single mission. It was to be placed on their heads, it would read their futures, the present, the pasts, and it would decide. It would sort them accordingly.

And it was stumped. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time it had happened either.

The more recent times had been the young Riddle boy who had been the perfect Slytherin, but with the times and with his future laid out before him, the Sorting Hat had been uncertain. Unsure if it ought to place Riddle where every sign said that he fit it, or to change up the future as it had not been designed. After that, it had been the girl with the bloody hair from that family. The first witch from that line to come to Hogwarts, who brought chaos in her wake and yet so few noticed.

It served that it would be her child that would stall him once again.

Hariel Lilith Potter, the child of Lily and James, and she was like her parents… a hat stall. As it looked into her head, it saw no clear future, just as it had not for Lily. The girl was a ghost to the future despite how entangled with fate she was. The Sorting Hat then cursed the beings that foolishly chosen a child like this for their chosen one. They had no idea what they had started.

No, it’s mission was to sort.

Its first instinct was Slytherin, but the child had so little ambition. Her cunning was careless, accidental, and her ambitions were simply to live. A worthy goal the Sorting Hat believed, but not one that ought to fit Slytherin.

She had the mind of a Ravenclaw, intelligence, and a curiosity for a specific topic just as her mother had. But she would not thrive in that house; the knowledge and the claws would destroy her humanity, creating the darkest of beings as a result.

Hufflepuff was simply out of the question, they were too kind to handle it, and the more delicate children it had placed in that house would be eaten alive.

On the other hand, Slytherin’s children could handle her, as could their head of house. He had been Lily’s friend, he knew the warning signs… but would he see past the hatred? The Hat didn’t know.

So that left Gryffindor. Perhaps the lions would be brave enough to handle it, one had already tried it seemed.

“Gryffindor!” the Sorting Hat finally said, and Hariel’s unholy grin lit up her face. Calm as could be, she slipped from her stool and offered a polite bow to the Hat as if it had done anything. As if it hadn’t been thinking of the survival of the other children the entire time it had sorted her… and her mother.

Funnily, the Hat could see Lily in the girl far more than James. For Lily too had bowed to it wearing the same bloodthirsty grin. But Lily had hidden her gifts, well-practiced in doing so by then thanks to her friendship with the boy. Hariel on the other hat… she didn’t bother.

In Godric’s name. The school was doomed.

Hariel turned on her heel and glided to her seat as the foolish lions cheered over getting her. They didn’t question the fact that none of the ghosts had been seen since the exact moment her heel touched down on school grounds. Or how the Malfoy child slid down in his chair in pure relief after he’d mistakenly gained her attention before the sorting. They were happy to have the girl-who-lived, a genuinely heinous title for a child such as her.

They would learn the Sorting Hat figured and turned its attentions to the next child hopeful that the next necromancer to pass through under his Hat would be easier to sort. But considering they would likely be her child, it was unlikely.

A problem for later it decided.

* * *

Hariel was distinctly pleased with her meal. The elves must have done their research before serving her for the meat was bloody, and the death cap was the exact level of deadly that she liked. She slapped Ron’s hand away from her plate before he took one of the mushrooms and frowned at him. “Those are mine.” She told him firmly.

“Sorry, Harry.” He grinned and backed off. Hariel rolled her eyes at him; if he wanted to try poison, he’d have to start far smaller than death caps. Perhaps the elves would help her dose him to gain some proper resistance. He’d need it for when she invited him to her home for the winter holidays as she’d already decided to do. Though hopefully, he’d do a bit better than Dudley had. Honestly, the boy couldn’t even handle some house-hold cleaning supplies shoved into his morning milk.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Mhm.” Her teeth crunched through an eyeball and knew her grandfather would be positively upset at her for not eating like the lady she was. But honestly, she was starving, the candy on the train hadn’t been nearly enough, and Barghest had stolen her proper lunch once she revived him… actually, what had her cat gotten up to anyway? Hm, he’d turn up.

“What did you do to Malfoy?”

‘Malfoy?’ Hariel shot a look toward the snake table in disappointment. She’d wanted to end up with that interesting boy, but sadly the Hat hadn’t deemed Slytherin appropriate for her. While that did bring her closer to her parents, she was still upset Malfoy hadn’t ended up with her and Ron.

Waiting for McGonagall to return as one large boy cried in the back about his toad - Hariel refused to look back at the child as Barghest circled her legs innocently - the blonde had stepped up to face her. He’d insulted Ron quite wonderfully before offering his hand and name in a vague offer. Hariel was relatively sure he was offering himself up to become one of her minions, and she’d been willing to accept.

But first, she had to test him. So she’d leaned in and offered him a return offer, perfectly reasonable she thought.

“Say, do you have any attachment to your second kidney?” she lifted her hand from where she’d pricked him, causing blood to well up, and licked it, “you’re the same blood type as my grandfather, and I need to replace his.”

For some reason, he’d gone very red after that, almost the same shade as Ron had after the well-placed insults. But before he had been able to answer McGonagall had returned and they’d been forced to split apart.

All well, she could still get his kidney later, Grandfather told her where to find the Slytherin common rooms.

“Where are the ghosts? They’re never this late?” an upper-year said, and Hariel perked up.

“Ghosts?” Hermione Granger asked, leaning toward them in curiosity.

“Yes.” The upper-year said, “they usually take a sneak peek at the first years, in greeting. Then they’ll show up about now in the great hall to meet the new students of each house. They do it every year.”

“Except this year evidently.” Commented another and Hariel rubbed the back of her neck, her eyes slid past the students to the very dead woman crawling along the floor beside them. She lugged her body across the ground, dragging her bloodied form because her legs were blown right off, and Hariel frowned. Did they not see her there? Or, if not her, then what about the young girl hanging off Albus Dumbledore’s shoulders?

Hariel shot a look at the head table, and the girl grinned her way and winked. Scrunching her nose, Hariel turned away and internally shrugged. She’d promised her grandfather she wouldn’t scare them away, and she intended to keep that promise.

“Maybe they’re having a party?”

“Maybe… it’s still weird though.”

Hariel felt an odd prickle at the back of her neck, absently she lifted her gaze and locked her eyes with one of the professors watching her. As she did, her scar sparked up in delightful pain, and she felt herself relaxing. The sensation was odd, but not unpleasant; she wanted more- and it ended as one of the pair looked away, leaving only the dark-haired man locking gazes with her. Hariel instantly turned her attention to the one that looked away, chasing the sensation, but he refused to look back.

“Who is that?” she demanded interrupting some conversation between Hermione Granger and what had to be Ron’s elder brother.

“Who?” the boy asked.

“The one with the turban?”

“Ah, that's Professor Quirrel, he’s teaching defense this year.”

“May Circe rest his soul.”

“What?” echoed several first years as their attention shot the seventh year that had spoken. At their attention, the boy sighed.

“I’ve been here through six different defense professors, one went mad, one was first in the first month, one we never found, one was arrested by Yule, one just went missing on her vacation, and one died. If Qurriel’s up next well… he’s doomed. I don’t want to imagine what sort of cursed fate is in store for him, it’s sure to be bad… especially this year.”

“What’s different this year?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” the boy stared toward Hariel and the scar at her forehead, “we’ve got Potter this year.” Which, of course, was right, but not in the way he was expecting.

* * *

  
He wasn’t sure at first, which in retrospect, was ridiculous; he never should have missed it, not with those eyes. But like he had with Lily, Severus had not noticed because he’d been too focused on something else. For Lily, it was their friendship; she had been his only friend, his escape from his home life, and because of what she was to him… he overlooked what he shouldn’t. Like the midnight walks through the graveyard, like the cat, like the bloody quality to her hair, or the way she’d hurl knives at her sister - he hadn’t liked Petunia anyway.

With Hariel, it was the name. Potter, his most hated enemy, the one that won Lily in the end. Who got passed all the… death, to be with her when Severus hadn’t been able to. And for the last decade, he’d ignored it, and he’d hated her. She was a Potter, she’d be as spoiled and stupid as James Potter had been. She’d be clueless to reality, and beyond reckless with her life despite Severus swearing with his own to keep her alive.

And then she breezed into the Great Hall, and he’d been forced to see.

Ebony hair, not dark brown as James’ had been. Killer green slightly disguised behind glass, the exact shade Lily had possessed. The unholy way she glided toward the Hat, the hat stall… and then the curtsy. All that he could ignore by force, but then there was the food she ate. The bloody steak, the death caps - he was a potioneer, he knew precisely what those mushrooms were, and Hariel did not so much as blink as she ate the deadly dinner. The way the ghosts avoided the room just as they had for Lily.

She was the same.

Severus couldn’t look away from her as he came to a few realizations during the span of dinner. First, Hariel was James Potter’s spawn yes, but there was far more of Lily in her than Potter. So as much as he hated the man, as much as he wanted to take her as only James’, he couldn’t. Second, she was a necromancer, a budding one, and that changed quite a bit.

Severus’ life was attached to Hariel’s due to the words he’d offered Albus Dumbledore. If she died, so too did he. And if she were a normal girl, that would be a huge problem. But she was not. She was an Evans… a necromancer. Hariel was like Lily, one foot in the afterlife and one in the living, and that made her distinctly resistant to death, in an unusual way. And while that put his heart at ease, Severus also realized that Dumbledore was doomed.

The Headmaster was expecting a savior, a child born to save them from the Dark Lord… and they’d gotten a necromancer.

A laugh escaped Severus’ lips causing Minerva to spit out her drink and Filius to gawk. And he covered his lips, hiding the high amusement on his face. The things Lily had been able to do, Severus had seen it, seen her grow in skill and power. And now her child could do the same, and he had zero attentions of ever ending up on her bad side as he had Lily’.

Severus still had nightmares from facing Lily’s furious wrath.

No, he’d earn her respect, convince her to turn to him first. To trust him. And he’d survive the cluster-fuck of a disaster they were racing headfirst into. He’d live, as would the Weasley’s if her newfound friendship was any sign.

He’d have to warn Lucius and Draco against angering her, as well as his snakes. They wouldn’t be happy, but once people began to notice, they’d be glad for his warning… and they’d owe him quite the favor.

Severus laughed again and pulled his eyes from the girl. He’d be on the winning side this time.


	4. Be Prepared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost guarantee this has... many typos, but I don't have a beta or any time (Collage and full-time work is killing me!) but I really wanted to get a chapter for this out. So if you see any typos just point it out to me, I'll try and fix them. Thanks guys <3 <3

"Hariel Potter…" 

"Present." 

So far, Hariel had decided classes were decidedly interesting. Firstly, because a ghost taught history… or well, he attempted to. The poor thing was easily frightened - considering he was dead - when Hariel walked into the classroom, he'd stuttered pitifully through his lesson. It must have been a challenge to be so alarmed by the very subject he taught. Hariel wondered if she could help make him more comfortable; perhaps she could anchor him closer to the earth… though he may get trapped. No, it was probably fine it wasn't like he did anything but teach anyway. 

As for her other classes, transfiguration was only theory so far, but Hariel was rather excited to play with the animals. It made her endlessly curious to ask some of the snakes how it felt to become a teapot for a short period. Hariel was sure their stories were fascinating.

While Hariel may have accidentally - and temporarily - killed Flitwick just her name. The man fainted on the spot, and it thrilled her endlessly. Quirrel was rather amusing; the man had apparently fought vampires with use of his painfully fake stutter. She believed Quirrel was likely testing her classmates to see who would notice the fake stutter and who could get over it. That, and well, Hariel positively adored how physically painful defence had become for her scar. It was just glorious, really. No one had ever seen so ballsy as Quirrel to push her in public before, and she couldn't wait to earn some… private tutoring once she called out his stutter and proved herself worthy. Herbology had Hariel paired with Neville and Ron, which was for the best. Hariel could only really keep more interesting plants alive, so the ones that required a gentle touch also required she not touch them at all. On the upside, her grandfather had already warned her she may have problems with the lively class and that potions would likely be more interesting for Hariel.

And it certainly was.

"Potter, tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hariel's green eyes glittered in delight as Snape posed his question with a harsh bite and an intense look. Coupled with the positively deadly result, Hariel was already utterly obsessed with the class. She'd been so worried they'd start with pointless and easy potions. Still, if her first question involved the draught of living death… oh yes, her grandfather was definitely correct. 

"The draught of the living death…" she licked her lips, "a potion that results in an unfortunately semi-permanent death-like state. Using it, people have reported seeing what Death himself is like… though there are several cases of an incorrect brewed potion actively killing the drinkers. I envy them." 

Ron shivered beside her, but Snape only nodded. 

"Correct."

And moved on to demand answers from Dean Thomas about bezoars. Only to follow up with demanding they attempt to brew a relatively simple boil cure potion. It was painfully simple for Hariel after her grandfather's tutoring. The exact way to use her knife was one she had no trouble with. Ron was all too willing to follow along as she explained exactly he ought to be holding his own knife for perfect cuts. "Muscle, in the end, is more difficult to carve than plants," Hariel explained as several of her classmates gave her looks, probably wanting to learn as well; Hariel may have to set up a tutoring session… especially for young Neville. 

Hariel frowned and turned as she watched Neville place his porcupine quills into his potion and squealed delightedly. The noise caused Snape to hurriedly turn toward her, but he was too late. Young Neville was already attempting to kill them all. She was awed by the attempt and ashamed; it should have been her!

As Neville's potion exploded to her left, Hariel realized the truth; she'd have to step up her game if Neville wanted to be her rival. 

_ **BOOM.** _

* * *

Severus pressed her hand into his eyes hard. That had been moronic; he knew Lily, he should have expected this from Hariel, but paranoia led to mistakes in this case. Severus had been utterly focused on ensuring Hariel did not follow her mother's footsteps during her first potions class. Years prior, Lily had 'accidentally' created noxious fumes - somehow - with the boil cure potion during Slughorn's first lesson. It had only been Severus' quick wits that prevented the entire class from dying premature deaths that day. As such, when Hariel was given the same potion, Severus had elected to watch her like a hawk to ensure she did not do the same. 

Only. Hariel actually tried. She had become distracted ensuring her new partner in crime, the Weasley, understood the proper cutting technique with… a mildly horrifying method of description. But otherwise, her potion had been textbook perfect. Which is why when she'd squealed his attention, focused so firmly on Hariel, snapped to Longbottom.

The subsequent explosion he blamed on himself. He should have stepped in before the dunderhead got that far. Thankfully Severus managed to contain the blast to two desks, Longbottoms and Potter's. 

He was less than surprised that Potter was utterly uninjured by the blast; it wasn't like he'd ever seen Lily injured either. He was more astonished that Weasley was also unharmed, for Lily had never managed to protect anyone but herself… then again, Severus learned from an incredibly young age that he was required to that himself. If he hadn't, he would have been stabbed by Lily's relatives quite early on. 

In the end, Longbottom and Brown were the only two rushed to the hospital wing. Unfortunately, this was indeed just the beginning.

Severus elected to look at the silver lining, no one had yet died, and Potter seemed to rather enjoy his class. So, so long as he could keep her attention, that ought to continue. Though, with how she'd looked at Longbottom during the explosion Severus also realized he'd have to keep Potter and Longbottom far _far_ from each other.

An Evans with an accidental and unrealizing rival was worse than a Potter targeting someone by far. 

* * *

Hariel pressed her lips together and watched as her flying Professor ushered the Neville boy with a warning for them not to jump up on their brooms, lest they be expelled. Immediately the kids around them burst into whispers, and Hariel couldn't keep her own mouth shut. 

"A broken arm during the first lesson? How dare he!" 

Ron side-eyed Hariel, who was staring at Neville Longbottom like the timid kid was worth less than the mud under her shoes. Somehow poor Neville had earned Hariel as a rival, which confused Ron more than he was willing to admit; he'd thought for sure it would have been Malfoy. But apparently not. Then again, Hariel seemed convinced Neville had tried to kill them in potions, and nothing Ron said could deter her from that thought. 

"I don't think he's too happy about that, Hariel," Ron pointed out while eyeing Malfoy, who was headed for something lying in the grass. 

"Don't be silly," Hariel commented, following his gaze toward Malfoy, "of course he is; a bit of pain with the pleasure of flying is the goal." Her eyes took on a slightly crazed glint as she added something that he really couldn't refute, "after all, quidditch players and their injuries are the jobs of beaters… isn't it?" 

"Well,…" he frowned, "err no?…" But he wasn't entirely sure this was the same thing. Maybe Hariel was unaware of why Neville breaking his arm was a bad thing… she did seem to have a higher pain tolerance than… most children - at least according to Granger. "No, most people can't handle having a bone broken… it hurts." 

She scrunched her nose and turned away from the door where Hooch had vanished, "I expected better from my rival." Her what now? "I suppose you may be right; he must have an infant's pain tolerance then. No matter, I'll just have to… 'help him' with it." 

Ron pressed his hands together and tapped his fingers to his lips. That sounded like she would purposely… nope, no, she wouldn't, that was crazy thinking. But just in case: "My pain tolerance is higher than that… just so you know." 

"Oh, I know," Hariel cheered quickly, "so is your poison resistance; you didn't even notice when I doused your breakfast this morning. Your mother must be a wonderful chef." 

Ron opened his mouth, then he closed it. That was a joke… right?

"Oh look, Draco has Neville's little remember-thing. Oh, dear, Draco, the smoke is red. Did you forget something?" Hariel strode forward, and Ron forced himself to follow. He'd be her second; he'd help her handle Malfoy.

"Potter." Malfoy sneered, instantly forgetting the numerous warnings from his parents and Professor to stay away from the girl. "What, do you want it back?" he scoffed, "just try and take it then." 

"Oh no, no, I haven't forgotten anything." At least she thought so… had she fed Barghest that morning? No matter if she hadn't, there were all sorts of animals in the castle he could eat… though, perhaps Ron would be a bit upset if Barghest ate his pet. Oh! She never got Draco's kidney, well there was still time before her grandfather's birthday. 

"Too scared, Potter? No surprises there; I bet you only scraped Gryffindor. More a Hufflepuff, really." The kids around them made shocked noises as if that was something scandalous. Hariel didn't think so, her grandmother had been a Hufflepuff, and she wouldn't have minded the house if she'd been placed there.

"Honestly, I like Gryffindor so far. But it would have been better with you in it, pity you ended up in Slytherin."

"Did she just say-"

"Not good enough for Slytherin! Good one, Harry!" Ron nudged her, and Hariel shot him a perplexed look. Honestly, the children here translated her weirds so oddly; it was like she was speaking a different language sometimes.

"How dare you, you'll pay for that Potter." Draco yanked out his wand. 

Hariel's eyes glittered as the wood levelled with her face, and her smile gained teeth. That was more like it! A duel! She'd been positively wasting away due to the lack of duelling. Honestly, she'd been wondering when someone would challenge her; she'd made it quite clear she was prepared and willing. Hariel rushed a hand into her pocket and didn't bother with the wand there. Instead, Hariel grabbed her weapon of choice, a perfectly sharpened dagger. 

"Bring it." She declared as Hermione Granger freaked, and the students around them backed off hurriedly. Hariel licked her lips as Draco lost a bit of colour and the smoke in the rememberall still in Draco's hand suddenly went white; he'd remembered what he'd forgotten. Namely, what Hariel had threatened on their very first day. She would have that kidney! 

Hariel lunged without warning, for her grandfather had taught her that only in legal duels had a countdown. This was no legal duel, and Hariel had no need to wait; he'd pulled his weapon first and had threatened her, now she was legally within her right to respond. 

Though honestly, Hariel had expected Draco to attempt to dodge like her cousin or aunt had gotten so good at doing. 

She hadn't expected him to stay still without trying at all. 

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

* * *

Professor Snape strode inside the headmaster's room where Hariel Potter sat alone and patiently waiting. As he stepped in, her legs were swinging casually, and she appeared to be having a relatively relaxed conversation with Fawkes, that she had no problem with the phoenix appeared to be - stupidly - putting the headmaster at ease. Severus personally took no credit in a bird's opinion; the ruddy thing had liked Lily as well. However, despite being summoned by Lucius and Narcissa after the… incident, Severus had been trying with great difficulty to stay out of it. He had no desire to find justice for Draco after Severus had explicitly warned him not to mess with Hariel Potter. It seemed some lessons needed to be a bit more physical. 

Severus was simply rather impressed the boy had survived at all. Severus didn't realize his own thoughts may have also been affected by Lily. No other professor had been quite so calm when the news exploded through the school. 

But he digressed. Severus didn't honestly believe he'd succeed in gaining Lucius and Narcissa's demanded justice if he tried. Putting aside Black's murder attempt against him completely, and the literal death Tom Riddle had gotten away within Hogwart's walls. Lily had likewise - and easily - escaped punishment when she'd pulled the exact same stunt in her third year. 

Her third year. This was Potter's third week. 

Merlin help him. 

"Severus," Albus greeted. 

"Hello sir!" Hariel waved her dainty; was that blood under her nails? Hands at him. Severus inclined his head toward her, the self-preservation of a proper Slytherin firmly kicking in. He'd take Hariel's side over Lucius and Narcissa in a heartbeat. His likely former friend had an inclining but no dream measure of what a monster an Evans could grow into. The Malfoy's saw nothing but a child who had harmed their son. They'd forgotten, likely because she'd died, the Lily of seventh year.

Circe, Severus felt a shiver race down his spine as Hariel smiled with sharpened teeth, and it resembled Lily a bit… too much. Honestly, he'd almost preferred she resemble her father a bit more. 

"Headmaster," he did not sit; instead, he stepped on Hariel's side of the room and away from the Malfoy's. Lucius and Narcissa eyed him for the choice, he'd made it quite clear he did not side with them with that single move, and they were displeased. "I was summoned?" 

"Pretty bird, such a pretty bird." Hariel lost interest in the conversation; no surprises, she'd gotten what she wanted. Though he couldn't fathom why she'd wanted it… yet. 

"Yes, after speaking with the other children and Madam Pomfrey, we have discovered the truth… Miss Hariel did, in fact… reposition young Malfoy's kidney." 

"And you summoned me?" he wasn't her head of house, Minerva was the one who ought to deal with this-

"Ah, well, that is because Hariel personally requested your presence." So… he'd been requested three times over, by Narcissa, Lucius… and Hariel. Severus internally swore this was the downside of associating with an Evans. When they liked you, it was almost as life-threatening as when they hated you. On the upside… he did have experience with Lily… how much worse could Hariel really be? 

Then again, it was the first week, and she'd stolen a kidney-

"I will speak with her." He offered the branch. He'd talk to Hariel, and Albus would handle the Malfoy's; in theory the problem could be soothed by the fact that Draco's kidney had been regrown in short order. Though he was to have a rather… extended hospital visit and childhood trauma- but Hariel…

Why did he want Hariel again?

Ah, yes, prior experience.

"Hmm, yes, I think that's appropriate." Albus smiled as kindly as he dared at Hariel, "Hariel, you are excused." 

Naturally, Lucius and Narcissa had… issues with that decree. Still, Severus was already ushering Hariel out the door and down the stairs. That was not his problem. Instead, he escorted her toward the Gryffindor's. He found himself momentarily curious how Minerva was handling the somewhat traumatized first-year lions. With warnings as he'd done the snakes, he hoped.

"Did you know phoenix's periodically die?" Hariel told him, skipping along the hall, "I wonder what it's like." 

"Ev- Potter." He stopped in an empty section, and Hariel turned to smile his way. "Hariel." He corrected twice, electing to copy the familiar way Albus often spoke to the students; it seemed to work well enough for the man.

"Severus." Hariel returned, fair play he admitted, even if it made him cringe. "You wanted to talk?" She was curious; he could read it in the bunching of her brows. Her face was eerily similar to Lily, and he could read it just as he often could for Lily. One more way, he'd extend his life span. 

Severus had several options here. He knew how to punish Hariel - in much the same way Lily would have been - but she wasn't going to easily understand what she'd done wrong. Lily never had, and she'd gone right on until someone died. No, punishment was pointless here. Instead…

"I have a proposition for you." 

Bribery. 

In exchange for not stabbing students, he'd allow her to assist him in preparing some of his less delicate ingredients. Which meant pulling the bowels out of small creatures, crushing eyeballs, ripping wings off beetles and the like. Any average person found these things disgusting, he had as well at one point, but he had gotten over it. Lily, on the other hand, she'd been all too willing to do the dirty work for him. It was part of the reason she'd been so spectacular with potion making, that and his own personal tutoring.

"So I… can't physically harm any students, and in exchange, I get all that?" she clarified then hummed, "define… 'physically harm.'"

"No permanent maiming, no open wounds, no killing anyone… unless you are attacked first." He didn't want her not defending herself either; Quirrel was already suspicious enough, he had a grim feeling about the man.

"Agreed." Hariel stepped forward and shook his hand. "I won't permanently maim or kill any students." 

Severus shook her hand, aware of the loopholes in their agreement. He was a Slytherin; he knew exactly what she could still do, which, from her words, included temporary death as long as she brought them back. He'd had a similar agreement with Lily when they'd been children, and it had worked out well enough. 

Besides, stopping her ultimately wasn't his goal. He wanted her on side, and that meant letting her get away with a few… liberties.

**Author's Note:**

> I intended to have this finished before October, and I intended to post a chapter a day for the whole month. This did not work out. I have one chapter finished, and general plans otherwise. So, this will progress randomly I guess.


End file.
